


Howl

by lunaeria



Category: Fables: The Wolf Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, On Hiatus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:01:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22687405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunaeria/pseuds/lunaeria
Summary: An unexpected reunion with someone from your past turns your entire world upside down and you’re not sure what to think anymore.
Relationships: Bigby Wolf/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 78





	Howl

**Author's Note:**

> If this looks familiar, it's because I've posted it under a different pseudonym back in, like, 2017. With the announcement of a Season 2 at The Game Awards last year, I had to revisit not only the game but also this story. Tags will be updated as the story is, so please heed them.

Everyone knows your story: a little girl walking through the scary woods all by her lonesome, red hood drawn and a basket of goodies in hand, on her way to Granny's house where a nasty surprise awaits. The Woodsman saves you and your grandmother from the Big Bad Wolf's terrible maw, and you live happily ever after— that's how most fairy tales are supposed to end, right?

You scoff at the thought as you wipe down the sticky counter of The Magic Bean with a dirty rag that smells distinctly of spoiled milk, stale coffee, and bleach. This was undoubtedly not the happily ever after you had imagined when you were a little girl. Spending eight hours on your feet making complicated drinks for pissy customers with a bad attitude and earning just enough money to pay your ever-increasing rent was not at all what you had thought you'd be doing with your life. You had dreamed of greater things, of romance and adventure.

But you're not the little girl in the red hood anymore; now you're just the barista in the green apron. With a heavy sigh, you lean against the counter's laminate surface and brush a stray lock of hair from your face. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you remind yourself that it could always be worse, that you could be turning tricks at the Pudding' N Pie. You hoped you'd never resort to it, but it was hard enough to make ends meet with a 'respectable' job.

The Magic Bean isn't all that bad, though; you think as you stand and turn your attention to the retro-inspired clock on the wall. It's been fifteen minutes since closing, and the cafe is empty, save for you and your manager. She's a fiery woman with hair to match who appears to be in her mid-thirties, but you know as well as anyone that Fables don't age in the same way Mundies do. She's the best part of working at this sticky little coffee shop, and you knew you'd be lost without her guidance.

Moira turns over the table she had been wiping down, revealing its gum-coated underside and muttering a curse under her breath. She takes a moment to glance at the clock as well before turning her wise, blue eyes to you. "Why don't you head on out for the night?" She offers, leaning back on her haunches, "I can handle this."

You know better than to argue with a banshee and untie your apron, pulling it over your head and draping it across your arm as you slip through the kitchen doors and into the adjacent break room. You retrieve your red peacoat and shrug it on over your uniform, hanging the apron in its place on the wall before rejoining your manager in the cafe's dining area. She's no longer knelt on the faux wood floor, standing before you instead with a bag of the day's leftover pastries. "Thanks, Moira," you say with a sheepish grin.

"Don't mention it," she says as she walks you to the door. "You know as well as I do that they'd just end up in the trash." You say your goodbyes as you step out into the winter chill, and Moira locks the entrance behind you.

Nights like these made you miss the Homelands. You had always loved winter, especially when a thick blanket of powdery snow would coat the ground and trees outside your home in the village, but Fabletown winters were nothing like the ones you were used to. You wrap your arms around your waist in an attempt to combat the cold and take care to step over a patch of slick ice on the sidewalk. That was all the city really had to offer: biting cold, icy streets and dirty slush.

"Red?" An incredulous voice calls, and you turn on your heel to meet the source. Standing outside of the Trip Trap was none other than the Woodsman, looking a little heavier and older than you remember him with an inebriated flush to his bearded face. "Look at you," he slurs as he stumbles forward, "you're all grown up!" He's drunk, and you're unsure of what to say to him, it's been centuries since you last saw him. "Not so little anymore, huh?" He muses, gesturing animatedly towards your figure with his large hands.

"Hey Woody," you greet him politely, if not awkwardly, as you watch him trip over his own two feet. He manages to catch himself on the brick exterior of an empty storefront beside you, and you notice the unmistakable scent of alcohol on him. "Are you gonna be alright getting home?" You ask, and though he dismisses your concern with the wave of a hand, you can't miss the unsteady swaying of his body. "Shit," you mutter to yourself as you reach out for his arm, draping it across your dainty shoulders. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

The Woodsman makes no effort to fight you on this as he gives you directions to his apartment building. You're not entirely sure if you're helping him because it's the right thing to do or if it's because you feel you owe him for saving your life, but you do it anyway. Thankfully the walk to his apartment is a short one, despite Woody's increasingly skeevy compliments and attempts at catching up making the duration of the trip feel like it would never end. By the time you reach his door, you're ready to just leave his ass in the hallway, but you wait and watch him fumble with the lock. You're ready to tell him to have a goodnight, the words hanging from your lips, but he just can't get that fucking key in the lock, and you heave a sigh.

"Let me," you nudge him out of your way and unlock the door with ease. Woody slips past you and into his apartment, making a beeline for the kitchen. You linger in the doorway, his keys still in your hands.

"Come in," he calls out to you as he opens a can of beer, and you try not to roll your eyes. "Have a drink."

"I really can't," you tell him as you reluctantly pass through the threshold and into the Woodsman's messy apartment. "I've already kept Granny waiting too long." There is no table near the door for you to leave his keys, so you step into the kitchen, outstretched hand offering him the set of keys. He takes your hand in his, calloused thumb running over your soft skin and causing a chill to creep up your spine. "Woody," you warn.

His grip tightens as he pulls you closer to his towering frame, his hazy gaze shifting from your wide eyes to your lips. "My, what big eyes you have," he teases, the stench of alcohol washing over you as he crashes his lips against yours and pushes your back against the wall. You drop the bag of pastries and slip your free hand between your bodies, trying to push the man away from you. His hand on your thigh inches up your skirt, pulling down at the waistband of your panties, and you begin to panic.

You try to fight him off, to wriggle free of his grasp, but the Woodsman is stronger than you and gathers both of your hands into his one with ease. He pins your wrists above your head as he forces his tongue past your lips and teeth, kissing you with intoxicated desperation. You bite down upon the invading appendage, and he pulls away, anger in his eyes.

"You bitch," he roars as he strikes you with the back of his hand. "Don't you think you owe me?!"

"I don't owe you shit," You spit, and he sneers at you as he wipes the mixture of saliva and blood off his cheek. Cries for help spill from your split lip as he unzips his jeans, but they fall on deaf ears. The tenants of a rundown building such as this would rather keep their noses in their own business than play hero.

"If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be here right now!" Woody argues. His hand wraps around your neck, gripping tight enough that your screams die beneath their pressure. "Should I have let that fuckin' wolf eat you, you ungrateful brat?" You clench your teeth, trying to ignore the tears that fall down your face and the fiery trails they leave in their wake.

You feel a sense of hopelessness and fear you hadn't felt since that day, and just when you're convinced no one is going to come to your rescue this time, the Woodsman is being pulled off of you and thrown into the floor lamp across the room. You slide down the wall, falling to your knees as you gasp for breath.

"What the fuck is going on here, Woody?" The Big Bad Wolf growls, and you cannot believe the turn this night is taking. He approaches the Woodsman with clenched fists and squared shoulders, ready for a fight. Woody seems happy to oblige as he stands, throwing himself forward and punching the sheriff in the jaw.

Everything in your body is screaming at you to get up and run, but you're paralyzed with fear and shock. All you can do is sit and watch as the Big Bad Wolf beats the shit out of the Woodsman. You try to process this strange role reversal, but your brain is fried.

The fight between the two mortal enemies ends as quickly as it had begun, and you stare blankly at the outstretched hand before you. "Come on," his voice is surprisingly gentle, and your eyes follow the length of his arm up to his unshaven face. "I'm not gonna hurt you," he promises, and you can't help but raise a skeptical brow. Bigby can't blame you for being wary of him, considering he had tried to eat you back in the Homelands... He clears his throat and swallows thickly before adding, "Those, uh... those days are behind me."

His brown eyes are warm like hot chocolate, and he's trying to give you a reassuring smile, but he looks more embarrassed than anything. You accept his hand, and once you're on your feet, he lets go, dropping your hand as if it had burned him. "Why," you croak, your voice coarse from the abuse you had just suffered. "Why'd you save me?"

Bigby's gaze wanders from your doe-like eyes to your split lip and down to the fabric pooled around your ankles. He averts his gaze, turning his attention towards the incapacitated Woodsman as you hurriedly pull your panties back on.

"I'm the sheriff," he answers, his voice softer than you had ever heard it. "It's not like I'm going to ignore a cry for help." Bigby had recognized you the moment he pulled the Woodsman off of you. Sure, you're all grown up now, but there was no way he could ever forget you. Especially not when you look up at him with those big, beautiful eyes. "Besides," Bigby adds as he scratches the back of his neck, trying to avoid your questioning gaze. "I'm trying not to be so... big and bad."

You exhale something that almost sounds like a laugh as you follow him out of the apartment complex, the bag of goodies long forgotten, and watch as Bigby retrieves a pack of Huff' N Puffs from his trouser pocket. He brings the box up to his mouth and uses his lips to pull a cigarette from the pack before lighting it up. You wrap your arms around yourself once more, this time in an attempt to comfort yourself, and Bigby takes a long drag off his cigarette.

"Which way are we going?" He suddenly asks, exhaling smoke. You blink up at him, not sure if you heard him correctly. We? "I'm not letting you walk home alone after that," he clarifies as if he had read your mind.

Despite the small part of you that says not to trust him, you give the sheriff your address and let him escort you through the city's streets. Conversation between the two of you is non-existent, which doesn't come as a surprise to either of you. What is one even supposed to say in a situation like this?

You do feel his gaze on you, though, occasionally burning holes into you as you walk together. You're older than the last time you met, much taller too, but you're still little, and he finds the scarlet shade of your coat a humorous touch. He's more worried about your split lip and the fresh bruises forming on your neck and wrists, though.

The Woodsman was supposed to be the hero of your story, and the irony of tonight's situation isn't lost on him.

When you reach The Pines, Bigby doesn't go any further than the complex's front doors. He drops the butt of his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out with the toe of his boot. "Just," he finally speaks, pausing to choose his words, "be careful out there, Red."

You watch as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his black trousers before turning away from you and descending the steps. Your mind is reeling, trying to keep up with and recount everything that had just happened. He's nearly at the building's gate when you finally manage to speak, "Thank you, Bigby."


End file.
